


Save Everyone (but yourself)

by Bethanyleerose



Category: MCU, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Dad Stark, Father Figure, Gen, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, PTSD, Peter Parker needs Tony Stark, Protective Tony Stark, Swearing, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark as a father figure, Water
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2018-12-19 10:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11896068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bethanyleerose/pseuds/Bethanyleerose
Summary: Peter Parker saves everyone. It's what his known for (Spider-Man or not) he's just a helpful guy. Except when an everyday patrol goes terribly wrong, Peter's left with the realization that sometimes he needs to be saved too.And Tony Stark wants to be the one who saves him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *This story has a TW because it does deal with PTSD and panic attacks*
> 
> Hey! I'm new to the fandom but absolutely love the concept of Tony Stark having a soft spot for Peter. Feel free to leave constructive criticism and so forth. All mistakes are mine, so happy reading!

Peter Parker watched hopelessly as bubbles formed around him, all the air in his body escaping at once.

He saved everyone.

Every single kid in that van with the name of some summer camp plastered on the side in animated lettering. No one expected the driver to pass out. No kid imagined that they'd never reach their destination, or that instead they'd be headed to the bottom of a lake. No one expected Spider-Man to be in the area either.

They weren't in Queens at all. They were in Manhattan, a place Peter never would have gone normally (he preferred the hustle and bustle of his every day life on his side of town thank you very much).

But nevertheless, there he was. Who knew a decathlon competition would be held in Manhattan that day?

He was crossing the same bridge (actually swinging) and witnessed the whole thing. He saw the driver who was fine one second, and then totally zonked the next. Along with the screaming kids, probably wondering _why_ their summer camp was already sucking. And finally, the ingrained picture of the vain falling, and the inevitable plop noise that will surely haunt him for the few next weeks to come.

But there was also the sudden feeling that he had no control over his actions, he was just doing and going, and before he knew it, everybody was webbed up. Everybody was safe.

Everybody except Spider-Man.

Spider-Man was still inside the van, tangled in between seat belts and his own webbing 25 feet under water.

And now he was acutely aware of the fact that his body had no more oxygen to give. He would die in some cheesy summer van under murky water where no one could ever find him.

He discovered that there's a lot of things that go through your brain when you're drowning.

Peter didn't think people thought this much when they were dying. Wasn't he supposed to go unconscious already? His brain shut off? That way he wouldn't have to keep seeing how absolutely devastated May will look when some police officer tells her that her only family member was found at the bottom of a lake. He just kept seeing the way she'd sob and shake because _Peter knew how to swim, damnit._

But Peter didn't know how to save everyone and himself.

_"Sir, your body has consumed more water inside the lungs than survivable_."

If Peter could say a coherent sentence, he'd probably tell Karen that _he could have guessed that on his own._

_"Shall I activate the water propellers?"_

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

_"Since it appears that you're unable to communicate, I'm going to take that as a yes."_

Just as his consciousness was slipping away from him, Peter found himself being yanked out of the webbing and seatbelt mess by propellers on the bottom of his suit's feet.

He was out of the van in seconds and why this hadn't happened earlier was beyond him, but Peter was shooting through the water now, on the verge of tears (if that were possible underwater) before he let out a strangled cry, wasting the last of his air.

Then the world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter comes to, but he's not entirely okay (surprise, surprise).

_ Cough. Spit. Sputter. _

_ Air. _

Peter Parker came to on the side of the lake under an old cement bridge. He was sitting like a mass of red and blue seaweed, still tangled up in his webbing and soaking wet.

But holy  _ shit  _ he was  _ alive. _

Does air have a taste? Because he swore it tasted amazing.

_ "Deploying heater." _

If he could kiss Karen, he would.

"Thank you," he croaked, his voice still raspy from the water that was lodged in his throat.

_ "Shall I call Aunt May? It seems your body is experiencing shock-like symptoms." _

_"No,"_ he all but choked out, bringing his hand up to rub his throat. "I'm–I'm fine, totally fine." He sat on the hard cement underneath him for a little longer, trying to take advantage of the heater and just feeling too damn tired to move.

He made it. Nothing bad happened to him in the end. He was completely fine.

Which is why when he got up to leave, and the sight of the lake made bile rise in his throat, he simply walked faster.

Because he was totally in control.

~*~*~*~

"Peter you're  _ soaked." _

"I know, May, I'm sorry. A couple guys thought it'd be funny to have a water balloon fight in the court yard and I must've looked like a great target."

_ _ "But it's October! God, that school of yours—" she trailed off, coming over to fuss over him and wrap him in a not-really-needed-but-May-needed hug. 

She took her glasses off and ran a hand through her hair, backing away to get a better look at him. She arched a brow. "Your clothes aren't completely wet, but your hair and shoes are ruined."

Peter laughed out of nervousness. "Yeah, guess they didn't really know how to aim."

May stared at him for another minute, and if Peter wasn't so cold he might've actually  _ sweat  _ under her gaze, but eventually her face broke from suspicion and was replaced with only concern. Why should she have a reason not to trust Peter, after all.

She squeezed his shoulder once more. "Go get a hot shower. I'll order some takeout."

Peter nodded warily, heading for the bathroom to take off his clothes that were wet because of the suit underneath.

He skipped a shower that night.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter experiences his first panic attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a doozy.

It'd been a week since the accident.

That's what Peter was calling it, because even saying the word lake made shivers go down his spine.

It'd also been a week from hell.

Not only had his appetite decreased times ten, but he couldn't be near any kind of water. And it was driving him insane.

Peter could barely wash his hands.

"It's your night to do the dishes," May called out one night, heading towards the bathroom.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it," he called back, collecting the glass plates that they had just eaten Thai-food on. May wanted to seem classier that night, after having eaten takeout three days in a row, and decided takeout on glass would suffuse.

Peter preferred paper, but who was he to argue?

Except once he turned on the faucet, he wished he would've.

At first everything was fine, but the closer he paid attention to the _drip drip drip_ noise and the feeling of just being _wet_ in general, he found himself shutting it off and griping the edge of the counter so hard it was probably going to dent.

May came back in the room then, and when she took in his expression her eyes grew wide. She glanced at the sink, then back up to him.

"You didn't fall in, did you?" she tried to joke.

Peter clenched his jaw at the word _fall_. "I'm not feeling too great," he blurted.

She nodded slowly, still worried. "Why don't you go lie down? I'll finish up here." May was already at his side, placing the back of her hand on his forehead.

"No, no, I can finish, you – you cleaned up last night and I don't want you to have to clean up after me all the time, especially when I'm not even—"

"Peter," she said, giving him her best _don't argue with me when you look like death_ look that she'd perfected whenever he got sick but wouldn't admit it.

He meekly nodded, slinking out of her touch and heading off to his room.

Except he wasn't sick. The second he got away from the sink he was totally fine.

When he was away from water in general, he was totally fine.

Peter shut the door to his room and sat down on his desk chair, the chemistry homework he'd left half-done staring up at him. The teen picked up a pencil and swiveled it around in his hands for a couple minutes.

_Drip drip drip._

He jerked his head up at the sound of the faucet being turned back on, the noise heightened by his spider senses.

He could practically see May wash the dishes in the other room, the _swish_ and _swash_ of the water splashing over plates and silverware.

The pencil in his hands snapped.

_God._

Why was this bothering him so much? Every other person in the world—bad experiences with water put aside—was not afraid of _the sink of all things._

Peter couldn't keep sitting idly inside his room while the sound of water served as a constant reminder of how much of an idiot, no, a _baby_ he was being.

He changed into his suit, already longing for the feeling of flying through the city.

"May!" he called, pulling his mask over his face and hopping around on one foot to get the other leg in the suit.

"...eah?" came her reply, the sound of the sink muffling her words.

"I'm gonna go to bed, so, you know, g'night."

The faucet stopped. Peter held his breath. The sound of May's feet stopped outside of his door. "You sure? You didn't look so good ... maybe I should get the thermometer."

"No –no." Peter scrambled to the door. "I'm fine, May, really. Just tired."

The door handle jiggled, then, "Peter, can I come in?"

Peter almost complied, then remembered his idiotic decision to put on the suit _before_ telling May he was going to sleep.

"No, I, uh," _Jesus Christ_. "I'm ... kind of naked?"

Peter could pretty much hear the confusion on May's face.

A beat later. "Why are you naked?"

"It helps me? You know, like how Benjamin Franklin slept naked his whole life? It gets the creative ... juices flowing." He just used the words _juices_ and _naked_ in the same sentence to his Aunt, _oh my God._

He stepped away from the door, face red, despite May being on the other side and him actually being fully clothed.

"Okay," _uncomfortable cough,_ "—call me if you need anything, goodnight, Peter."

"Yeah – course, night, May."

The sound of her walking away made Peter's shoulders visibly relax, and he was out of his room in seconds.

~*~*~

One web after another web, Peter was soaring. The night air felt great against his clammy skin, even through the suit. It was amazing moments like this that Peter wished he could share with someone. He laughed to himself, thinking about how much Ned would just _die_ to swing through the city with him.

The city wasn't bustling with crime tonight (boring), so Peter only made a couple of stops. Returning a cat, grabbing a sandwich, the works. But regardless, it was a good night.

Everything just melts away when he patrols. School. Problems. May.

Water.

Falling. The screaming kids. _Plop_.

Peter shook his head, sending a web to the top of a nearby parking garage and landing. What the hell?

The teen looked down at his shaking hands—actually, he was shaking. He shut his eyes, his breaths coming out sporadic and uneven.

 _"Peter, your heart rate is accelerating due to anxiety_ —"

"Shut up, K-Karen," he sputtered, gripping the cement under him in order to just keep himself from falling over.

Falling. Sinking.

Drowning.

A strangled noise irrupted from him then, and Peter had never felt so not in control of his own body. Why was this happening so fast?

"K-Karen, what – what – is going, _happening_?" he choked out, trying desperately to just stop feeling like shit.

" _Peter, try and take deep breaths. You're experiencing a severe panic attack and should contact someone immediately."_

Panic attack? _Him_? There wasn't anyone to call. May thought he was sleeping. Ned would probably have one himself if he saw Peter like this.

_"Shall I call your Aunt?"_

"No – no, no. Not May."

_"I'm required to alert someone during a potentially harming or distressing bodily experience."_

Peter's breaths were coming out shorter, and he couldn't believe he was actually arguing with his clothing.

"Stop, please, just, _shut up._ "

_"Tony Stark has experience with panic attacks. Shall I call him?"_

Peter froze, shutting his eyes so tight he could see spots under his lids. Not Mr. Stark. He couldn't see him like this, he'd take back the suit, he'd – he'd look _disappointed._

"Karen, don't call anyone," he bit out. "I'll – I'll be fine."

_"I'm required to call someone—"_

_"Please."_

Silence.

Peter stayed on the roof of some parking garage God-knows-where, wheezing and crying and ultimately feeling like absolute shit until he laid on his back, staring up at the sky.

He stared up into the black oblivion for at least two hours till the shaking completely stopped, and Peter was reduced to stained cheeks and bad memories of hard cement and the smell of cars.

With a shaky breath he got to his feet, stumbling a little, then shot a web to the nearest light post and made his way back to his room.

He didn't need to worry his Aunt or bother a billionaire.

He was totally in control.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> School sucks and Ned is a really great friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is an explosion of italics whoops. Also the next chapter will have more dad!tony (yay) so enjoy!

  
Peter stood up with a muffled groan, leaning his head against the train pole. It was cold. He felt hot. Germs be damned.

It was possible that this was the most exhausted he'd felt in the past year.

And a lot of shit can happen in a year.

Peter wiped his mouth with his sleeve, stuffing earbuds into his ears and hoping that _Ain't No Mountain High Enough_ would give him even a slither of motivation to actually act like a functional human being at school today.

It was unlikely.

Ned was already waiting for him at their usual spot by the drink machine when he arrived, scrolling through his phone to keep himself looking occupied. Peter snatched the phone out of his hands before he could protest.

" _Dude_ , I was scrolling."

He snorted, looking past the cracked screen to see that he was on some girl in their Chem class's page. "Scrolling through Annie's profile? Isn't that more like _stalking_?"

"Not if you don't double-tap," he argued, grabbing his phone back (Peter let him, for the record).

Ned finally broke his gaze away from the phone, glancing at Peter for the first time. He did a double-take.

"Damn, did you get hit by a Jeep Wrangler on the way here?"

"That's oddly specific."

"I'm in a Jeep mood. Don't change the subject. Your face looks scary."

Peter huddled under his hoodie, feeling even more vulnerable. "It's been a long night."

"You mean _week_."

"That's not helping, Ned."

Ned shook his head, like he just now realized that he might actually be offending his best friend, and softened his expression a little bit.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay."

Then a beat. "You sure?"

Peter let out a throaty sigh, leaning his head up against the wall. "I'm _fine_ , I'd tell you if something was up."

"No you wouldn't."

"What makes you say that?"

"Because you're not telling me _now_ , and I know whatever it is it probably has to do with the other guy."

"I'm not the Hulk, Ned."

He scoffed. "I think I'd know that. And I'm pretty sure the Hulk would admit when something was wrong easier than you."

"Um – no? He's kind of the _Hulk_ ," Peter deadpanned.

"You've never even met him before, how would you know?" Ned gave him a look that just screamed _gotcha_.

Peter tilted his head at Ned in faux annoyance, but the other boy merrily crossed his arms over his graphic T-shirt, giving him a pointed look.

The way Peter saw it, he had two options. Tell Ned about what happened, exposing his new (stupid) problem with water and the fact that he basically spent the whole night on a roof having a panic attack, or lie.

Lying would be a hell of a lot easier. And it would worry Ned less.

Peter stared at Ned for another moment, the way his expression was earnest and the fact that he was just overall _there_ for him.

So lying it is.

Except he didn't want to lie to his best friend, because, well, that's a really shitty thing to do. But if it would help Ned _sleep_ at night—then, yeah, it was worth it.

"I'll tell you after first period," he decided on, crossing his arms over his chest in his ridiculously large sweatshirt.

Ned's face lit up so fast Peter almost felt guilty. Almost.

He walked him to his first period, even though they didn't have it together. Ned talked his head off about his weekend, how he thinks the girl in Chem is totally into him because she keeps _blinking his way,_ and Peter only manages to flinch for half a second when Ned asks if anything exciting happened to the other guy over the weekend.

"First off, you can't keep calling me that. It's already taken by a five ton green guy who probably wouldn't be cool with sharing."

Ned looks only slightly offended, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Well I can't exactly say the S word."

"Shit?"

" _Peter_."

"Sorry, you kind of walked into that one."

The other teen rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips, and after a moment asked: "So did anything exciting happen to _shit-man_?"

"Oh my _God_ , I'm not friends with you."

Ned cracked himself up, and Peter couldn't help joining in a little bit, rolling his eyes. The bell rang, which bought him a little more time to collect his thoughts.

"I'll see you after first," Ned called as Peter walked into Calculous, shooting him a wave and ignoring the feeling in his stomach.

It wasn't guilt. He wasn't guilty. He knew what he was doing, it was for Ned's own good.

At least that's what he kept telling himself.

*~*~*~

Peter's ring tone jolted him awake. He looked up groggily, kids snickering around him.

Shit.

"Mr. Parker." Mrs. Ruck's face twisted into an ugly expression as she glared at him from the front of the class. If it was any other teacher they would have merrily ignored the noise, maybe shot him a glare—but of course—he had to fall asleep in this class.

" _Shit_ —I mean _shoot_ ," he scrambled to find his phone, digging through his book bag groggily because he had just fallen asleep in first period, and why the actual _hell_ was he so tired _._

"Language," she chastised, gaining another round of muffled chuckles from his classmates.

"Sorry - sorry, lemme just ..." he quickly checked the caller ID, the phone still buzzing and ringing in his hands and he almost drops it when he sees who it is.

Mr. Stark.

Shitshitshit, _double_ shit.

The phone's still obnoxiously ringing the _Imperial_ _March_ , a ringtone he thought would be hilarious for Mr. Stark anywhere but Mrs. Ruck's class.

"Phone. off. _now_ , Mr. Parker," she practically sneered at him. And let's face it, who even sneers anymore. That just adds to the reasons why this lady is practically a walking pterodactyl.

And adding to the accumulating reasons as to why he was so _fucking_ _tired_.

The phone stopped ringing for all of three seconds before it started again, and Peter was sent out of the classroom. Thank God for small favors. But by the third round of ringing Peter was actually starting to panic. What if something was seriously wrong? But how the hell was he going to hide how utterly _shitty_ he was feeling when he could hardly stay awake in class?

He was walking to the office now, (curtsey of Mrs. Fuck, sorry _Ruck_ ) when the decision was made for him.

The phone automatically answered itself.

Peter stared at it for a second, a little disbelieving, and then hesitantly put the phone to his ear. "H-hello? – Mr. Stark?"

"You do have caller I.D on that thing, right?" the voice on the other end began. The teen sputtered, trying to ignore the fact that if this was a phone call from literally anyone else that would be a really whack-ass greeting.

Peter scratched his elbow absentmindedly. "How – how exactly did you ...?" he trailed off.

"Kid, I _created_ the phone in your hand. I think I can answer it if I want."

He nodded, although Mr. Stark couldn't see him—except now he was even questioning _that_. "So, uh, what's up?"

The billionaire snorted. "Why don't you tell me?"

"I - I don't, what? ... the usual, I guess. Tonight's pizza night, thank God – May's been ordering Thai food for the past three days, and I mean don't get me wrong, I do _larb_ it but—"

"I'm going to stop you while you're still ahead. Scratch that, you're not ahead. You just made a larb pun. So now I know you're _behind_."

Peter fought the urge to grit his teeth and didn't respond for a few moments.

"Peter," the other man said and _God_ , why does everyone keep saying his name like that?

"Seriously," he said, his tone wavering dangerously on what could be considered a snap. "I'm fine."

Mr. Stark sighed, and if Peter wasn't mistaken it almost sounded like _he_ was embarrassed. "I just haven't heard from you in a couple of days. Not that we need to – ... I just thought maybe I should check in, be a good mentor, yada yada bullshit."

"Too late for that," he meant it as a joke, but winced when it came out.

"Yeah, well, _role_ _model_ isn't exactly on my transcript. I'll talk to you soon. Or see you soon. Depends on my mood. And try not to get kicked out of class next time, maybe, I don't know, keep your phone on silent?"

"How? But – but you're the one—"

"Hypocrisy at its finest. Bye, kid." Then the line clicked dead.

Peter let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Conversations with Mr. Stark always left him sputtering and jittery, no matter how frequent it became to talk to the billionaire—it'd never feel normal.

It wasn't uncommon for Tony Stark to call Peter, and in the last couple months the two pretty much communicated on a weekly basis.

And yeah, maybe Peter had neglected to talk to him for the past couple of days, but he was a busy guy. They both were.

As Peter walked down the hallway, he couldn't help stressing over the phone call. Not because it was random. Not because Mr. Stark knew he had class and knew that his Calculous teacher gave him hell. No, it was the fact that he wasn't _asking_ if something was up.

He knew something was.

And if Mr. Stark knew that something was up, then that meant something actually _was_.

And that scared the hell out of Peter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is still spiraling, but someone new tries to pick him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I haven’t posted since September, and although it may seem like I’ve forgotten about this story, I haven’t (how can you forget about Peter?). School is just freakn’ hard man. I know all of you know that, though, so all I can offer is a sorry and a whoops. Oh, and if you’re still reading this I appreciate it 10x. Expect more chapters to come! (Be prepared for a cliffhanger and tons of swearing and italics in this chapter, by the way. Oops?)

  
Sometimes life really kicks you in the ass.

Okay, yeah, so Peter was used to life sucking at this point. But _Jesus Christ_ it wouldn't hurt anything to be cut some slack once and a while.

For one thing, school didn't have to be this much of a nuisance. He was familiar with being good at something (even though this something happened to be totally lame). School had always been that easy something.

Except for right now in the kick-ass, sorry, _ass-kicking_ part of his life.

Sitting at his normal assigned seat (once again, _lame_ ) the teen waited anxiously to get his midterm paper back. It just so happened to be 20% of his grade, because why would all the work you've done all year determine your grade instead of one paper? Oh right, because that would actually be intelligent.

His teacher walked around the room, lazily distributing everyone's fate like it didn't actually mean everything.

And it did mean everything right now. Because Peter had tried to work really hard on this paper and keep his mind off of the shit-show that was his life. Because this grade and this mundane class meant something to him right now.

Groans of disappointment and squeals of relief — overall just _noise_ circled around him as his classmates got their papers back. Peter still hadn't gotten his back and the anticipation was literally eating him alive.

Finally, Mrs. Small's squeaky loafers stopped beside his desk, and her swollen hand (he didn't know why her hands were always swollen) placed the paper that may or may not determine his entire grade face down on his desk. The teen took a settling breath, then promptly flipped the damn thing over.

And, because it was in fact a typical ass-kicking day in the life of Peter Parker, the big red 69 that stared back up at him made his pencil unintentionally snap.

Shit.

Yeah, he definitely wasn't a writer for the _New York Times_ but surely he deserved to freakin' pass.

The kids beside him were muttering the dreaded _'so what did you make'_ and Peter just didn't want to hear it.

Actually, he didn't want to hear anything right now.

So he left.

He hastily grabbed his Jansport and that damn paper, the sound of Nikes squeaking angrily on the linoleum filling his ears.

"Mr. Parker, _Mr. Parker_ — where do you think you're going?"

Peter didn't spare her a glance, already out the door and headed for the bathroom.

This was so fucking stupid. Was he really throwing a fit over a paper? He'd failed plenty of things before, hell, he'd failed people before, but this — this just felt different. Peter felt different.

The teen shoved open the men's room door, but it was just another stupid, stupid decision in the adventures of the life of Peter fucking Parker.

The water was running (because it was in the fact a public restroom) and yeah, kids are supposed to wash their hands, but did they have to wash them while Peter was in here? Hand sanitizer _existed_.

The insistent stream of water made him want to scream. Before the red headed kid who'd caused him his distress could shut the water off, Peter flew out the door for the second time today.

Apparently Mrs. Small's decided that today was cardio day though, because she was sticking her head out of the door and vehemently turning it from side to side like some kind of sick dance move as she tried to find which way Peter ran off to. He'd probably bust out laughing on any other day if the sound of the toilet flushing didn't make him want to cry.

So he swiveled on his heel to go in the other direction, and ran smack into MJ. _Oh my God._

They fell on their asses, Peter giving her a horrified look and just waiting for some kind of quip, except what he was met with was worse.

Actual concern.

MJ hardly blinked, she just grabbed Peter's hand and hoisted him up with her, even when Peter began to protest (he was a man, he didn't need to be coddled, except MJ was never for that stereotype bullshit anyways, so he just shut up).

She dragged him down the hallway. He was certain they'd get reprimanded, but apparently she knew her way around or was familiar enough with skipping class to already have a route in mind. He'd ask about the latter later, but for now he was just grateful that he'd toppled into MJ, of all people. Peter would never voice this out loud though, because she'd probably drop this caring facade and sock him in the nose. Or be flattered. He never knew with her.

They stormed out a back door that Peter had never seen in his life, before finally making it to the glorious outdoors. They jumped a fence on the way (Peter had to pretend that he couldn't do that very well, because, yeah).

MJ turned around so fast when they were a block away from wherever the hell she was taking him that he almost fell on his ass again.

"Jesus," he muttered.

"I'm flattered, but no."

He rolled his eyes, a smile playing on his lips.

"So what the hell happened?" she cut straight to the point when they were on the other side of the chain-link fence. Both teens were standing on the outskirts of a small grocery store that had greenery behind it. It smelt like old poultry and celery.

No more smile.

"I – what do you mean?"

She lifted a carefully sculpted brow and stared at him like he was stupid. Which, in this case, she wasn't wrong. Peter couldn't expect her to lead them on a great escape without expecting answers.

"Seriously, what in the hell happened?" MJ repeated. "Mrs. Small looked like she was trying to break her own neck. Not to mention the bathroom thing — what, was there a troll in there or something?" She chuckled during the last part like it was some kind inside joke, but he had no idea what the hell she was referencing to.

He took a careful breath and squeezed his eyes shut. When they opened again he was surprised to find MJ's face had morphed from frustration into something a little softer.

"Peter, whatever it is—"

"I can't shower," he blurted, and why that had been the first thing to come out of his mouth was beyond him.

To her credit, all she did in response was lift her eyebrows. "I mean, bathing is acceptable too."

"No, no, I can't — I –" Peter physically couldn't bring himself to say it. That he was a coward. That the sound of the kitchen sink made him want to run.

That him trying to be anyone other than Peter Parker was a joke.

"I should go," he decided on.

Apparently this wasn't what MJ had in mind, because she grabbed his shoulder. Hard. God, did she always have this grip?

"And where are you going to go? May's at work, you don't have internship for another couple hours, do you even have your key?"

Peter shook his head. "I just need to go. Look, I appreciate—" he gestured wildly around with his hands, "—this. B-but I can't sit here and talk to you about something you can't understand." His words must have come out harsher than he intended when the hurt look crossed his friends face for longer than it would usually.

Then after a beat. "No."

He blinked at her. This was the part where she got upset so he could leave.

"You shouldn't be alone right now," she elaborated, eyeing him warily.

"Okay, I already have May to give me this speech, I don't need another person telling me—"

" _Peter_." She took her hand off of his shoulder and gestured to his body, and only then did he realize that he was shaking.

That was it. His already weak composure started to crumble before her eyes, eyes that were way too understanding for someone who knew less about his life than Ned.

The first tear that escaped he wiped furiously at. The second he let fall without protest.

And then the dam broke.

Before he knew what was happening he was lying against a wall that he didn't remember seeing while MJ patted his shoulder frantically in an attempt to be comforting.

"There, there, it’s — okay? I guess, _shit_ ," she muttered, reaching into his pockets.

"Wait, what are you doing?" he mumbled between tears as he pushed her hands away.

She still looked frustrated and slightly shocked, but now she looked _offended_. "Okay, Peter, don't fight me on this."

He deflated. "I know, just g-give me a sec. I get how stupid this is and what a baby I look like but I-I just can't keep doing all this anymore."

"No."

Damn, that word must be favorite of hers. He gave her a shaky sigh. "You just said—" He looked up just to realize that she wasn't talking to him anymore. She was on the phone. He took a double take and realized it was his phone.

"What the hell?"

She actually put up a finger to shush him. "Look, Peter needs someone and usually I wouldn't be going to an adult but you don't seem to suck _that_ much, at least, not to him—"

Whatever was said on the other end must not have been what she was expecting, because her expression shifted to one of indignation.

"Well, you don't have to have a shitty attitude. We're between 45th and 10th so you should probably be here in the next 10 minutes or —" She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it for a moment. Then sat beside him, still resting an awkward hand on his shaking frame like nothing happened.

"W-who was that?" He shifted away from her slightly (he didn’t want to, but didn’t know if his lame tears were actually making her uncomfortable or not).

She just stared at him and he wanted to melt into the ground for at least the thousandth time today. It dawned on him, then, because she sure as hell wouldn’t have talked to May like that.

"You wouldn't."

"Despite how dense you think I am, I know how close you two are."

Peter tried to get to his feet. "You called _Mr. Stark_ because I'm crying? Are you insane?"

"That's debatable. Peter, sit back down you look like you're about to fall over."

"No, no way – I don't want anyone to see me like this. Let alone _him_."

"What, like he hasn't seen a kicked puppy before?"

Peter's eyes flashed, but the tears in them and the way his shoulders shook slightly probably didn't do much to help his argument. "I do not look like a kicked puppy," he croaked out.

"Also debatable."

He shot her a glare without any real heat. She had helped him out immensely. And was letting him snot all over, well, _near_ her.

MJ was a damn good friend.

They fell into silence. With her hand still resting lazily on his shoulder —grounding him— he laid his head back against he brick. Small tremors were still racking through his body, but they were gradually disappearing. Except by the time they heard he sound of mechanical swooshing over head he wanted to cry all over again. This time from embarrassment.

Although MJ was hopeful that her call would at least help Peter feel even a _little_ better, once the gold and red suit was in eyesight everything went to shit again.

Damnit Peter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter comes to again (poor thing can’t stay awake) and discovers he’s not alone. Cue Irondad and a very stressed out and surprised Spiderson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back! (I realize starting every chapter with that statement is not something to be proud of) but summer is almost amongst us, therefore maybe I will actually finish this story. I have a few new ideas/directions for it, so it may be longer than originally planned. Thanks again to all the comments and kudos I’ve gotten despite my absence, you guys blow me away (too soon?). Let me know how you feel about this chapter, and like usual, all mistakes are mine so feel free to help a girl out if you catch any large ones. Oh, and I’m still abusing italics, so, my apologies in advance. Happy reading!

  
"Kid, _kid_."

Blink.

"Damn it, yeah, no, he's still out. No, I can't just hoist him up and take him to the tower. His senses are practically buzzing. Taking him anywhere would just make it worse. I'm handling it." The abrupt cease of noise on the other end signaled the call had ended.

Blink.

"Great idea, let's leave him behind a dumpster, a mile away from his high school," Tony muttered under his breath, hands gently wrapping around Peter's shoulders to tilt him into a more comfortable position.

Tony.

 _Tony_.

"Shit."

"Yeah, not my given name, although I do get that a lot," he replied. Peter looked up at him dazedly, attempting to sit up.

"Whoa big guy, slow down, you just re-entered the land of the living, how about _not_ entering the let's-see-who-can-sit-up-the-fastest contest, alright?"

Peter managed an unintelligible groan, trying to pry his eyelids open further.

"Eloquent," the other man quipped, checking Peter's pulse with an almost urgent quality.

The teen lifted his hand to bat stupidly at the billionaire's fingers, blinking a couple more times as Tony's calm, plaintive expression swam into view. The only tell-tale sign of discomfort about him was the frantic checking of Peter's vitals and the whispered conversation with FRIDAY that he couldn't quite make out. Otherwise, Tony acted as if coddling passed out teenagers in dilapidated alleys was an everyday pass time.

Which was _weird_.

And not just because of the obvious, but because this was Tony Stark. And yeah, okay, so Peter had started to calm down with his whole fan-boy attitude towards the man (or so he pretended) and they had already begun blurring the line that separated professionalism and _kid, how many times have I told you to pick up your back pack and put it in your room?_

But this was still different. They hadn’t crossed this particular line before. And Peter had just assumed that the man would freak out, or possibly get angry. But he seemed so ...understanding?

 _Weird_.

"H - hey, Mr. Stark, I'm okay," he croaked out once he remembered how to talk again, sounding anything but.

Tony snorted. "Yeah, poster-child for health over here."

"No, no, really, I'm fine. I don't really remember why I’m on the ground. But I'm sure –" he glanced around, "– MJ could fill you in..." he trailed off slowly when he realized that they were the only two here.

Peter wet his lips, trying to sit up more although the hand on his shoulder was persistent. "Where is she?"

"Micheal?"

He blinked again, realizing who Tony was referring to. "Actually, Mr. Stark, it's _Michelle_ , but she kind of doesn't really like being called that –" Peter abruptly stopped again as he realized it didn't really matter what MJ wanted Mr. Stark to call her, because she left.

She left him after she called Tony. She handed him off to someone who could _put up_ with him. Because Peter was weird and crying, and God, he should probably just go crawl under his covers and never return again because now he could feel just how close Mr. Stark was to basically _cradling_ him.

MJ left because Peter was _pathetic_.

"–Peter? You with me?" A snap in front of his eyes brought his attention back to the man in front of him.

"Y - yeah, sorry, I'm good."

"Okay, great. So now I can call Bruce back and let him know that we will also be taking a crash course in lying after we get to medical. That’s the second time you’ve lied to me, in like, five minutes, by the way. That’s _offensive_. "

Peter stopped short. "Wait, you called _Bruce? Why?"_

The older man tilted his head, wearing an expression that could only be categorized by Peter as his _I'm concerned and talking to a fragile idiot_ face. "You have a fever of 101 and we're sitting in an alley behind a gas station after your friend Micheal-J-whatever called me. Of course I called Bruce."

"Wait, fever? No, no, I'm fine, no need to call Bruce.” He weakly attempted to break the hold of the man again to demonstrate so, but without much success. "This is being blown out of proportion. I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, for wasting your time and everything, but I have to go –"

"Kid –"

"I mean May is probably flipping her shit, uh, _crap_ , and –"

"Peter!"

The teen snapped his eyes towards the older man at his tone. Tony's eyes were pinched, mouth turned down into a stern frown. "We're going to medical, and that's final. I'll call May. I don't know who you think you're trying to put on this tough-guy act for, and frankly, I don't care. You're sick. Bruce is a doctor. That's your only option."

Peter swallowed, feeling all the more like a child, and nodded his head silently.

"Glad we're on the same page."

They sat there in silence for a couple more minutes after that, not moving, not speaking. It should have felt awkward. He had just gotten reprimanded like an actual kid. But it wasn’t. And maybe it was because he was worn out. Or maybe it was because Peter could feel the man’s anxiety beneath his strong facade.

And although Peter wanted to get medical over with (scratch that, he wanted to crawl into a hole) he was thankful they hadn't moved yet. His senses were still dialed way too high, as they usually were after a panic attack he was discovering, and too much noise right now could set him off.

Mr. Stark must've understood somewhat, because he just kept rubbing small, unconscious circles on his arm. Just the right amount of touch that made him really grateful someone was there, but not overbearing. It made Peter feel tired. It made him feel calm.

It made him think a little of Ben.

"Thanks," he said all of the sudden, so quietly he wondered if the other man heard him.

“Sure thing, kid,” Tony said just as softly, still tracing circles onto Peter’s arm despite the acknowledgment and the terse conversation a few minutes ago.

Apparently, he had.

 


End file.
